John studied Anna’s friend. She must be Jenny Hayes. She had been a working screenwriter for a while now, and he knew her work. She had written The Castro.

“Thank you, Frank. When are you going to hire me?”

“I’m not sure I can afford you now.”

“You always say the nicest things.”

John didn’t miss the way Anna straightened her shoulders. He had a flash of the moment she’d leaned into him in the booth, laughing. It was hard to reconcile the two Annas. He didn’t know which one—the well-heeled socialite Anna or the down-to-earth, laughing Anna—was a front and which one was real.

“Frank,” Anna said, voice wavering. “I wanted to talk to you about the bestseller you just optioned.”

“Of course I thought of you,” Frank said.

Anna’s eyes lit up at his words.

“But we made the offer to another director.” Frank narrowed his eyes. “Word is that TopLine hired you for another romantic comedy.”

Another guest plucked a glass of champagne from John’s tray. He barely noticed. So, Anna had a job—after all her complaining about low-brow sci-fi TV pilots and obscure production companies. TopLine might be an aging studio, but it was hardly disreputable, and a job was a job.

“No,” Anna said. “You’re the first person I’ve talked to since I’ve been back.”

“Right,” John muttered under his breath.

“Uh, have you two met?” Frank asked, glancing between the two of them.

“No,” John declared.

“We just met,” Anna replied.

“Uh-huh,” Frank said, frowning. “Well, TopLine is claiming it is a done deal, privately of course. They haven’t made a public announcement.”

Anna smoothed her skirt unnecessarily. “Well, I’m not working for them. You must have misheard.”

“Do you know who is thinking about acquiring a major stake in TopLine?” Frank asked, an innocent note to his voice.

Anna shook her head, brow furrowed.

“Rumor is Mr. Melton is about to start his own studio or acquire one.”

Anna crossed her arms over her chest. “What does this have to do with me?”

“It appears someone put in a good word for you.” Frank gave a half-hearted shrug. “He does what he wants.”

“That’s precisely the problem.”

Why in the hell would Anna be mad at Tom Melton? John wasn’t wearing a shirt and was passing a tray of champagne glasses for minimum wage. She was about to throw a tantrum in a designer gown.

He couldn’t help himself. “Must be a real hardship to have someone looking out for you.” So much for keeping it professional.

“Excuse me?” Anna squinted at him, annoyance coming off her in waves.

“Oh my,” Jenny said then downed the last of her champagne.

“I need to go talk to him.” Anna turned and stomped away.